


Twister

by Buckeye01



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Amazing, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brotherhood, Comfort/Angst, Hurt, Hurt Athos, Hurt Porthos, Hurt/Comfort, Protectiveness, Tornado, Worried Musketeers, Worry, d'Artagnan is a rock star
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 22:55:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6678796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckeye01/pseuds/Buckeye01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a tornado rips through the streets of Paris and buries the Musketeers under a pile of rubble, what can they do but wait and hope for rescue? Not if rescue comes from within. This is a story of waiting, hoping... and sheer determination to survive! For the Fête des Mousquetaires competition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twister

**TWISTER**

**Palais du Louvre:**

“My First Minister has been so preoccupied at the construction of his chapel that I hardly see him anymore.” King Louis complained. “I am the King of France!”

“Yes, Your Majesty, you are indeed.” Captain Tréville bowed respectfully, adding a sweeping motion with his arm for good measure.

“Then why can I not have a moment with my own First Minister, hmm?” Louis frowned as he drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne. “Is Cardinal Richelieu so busy that he doesn’t have time for his king?”

“Sire, I can go to…”

“You must send your men to _Chapelle de la Sorbonne_ immediately to deliver my correspondence to Cardinal Richelieu!”

“Your Majesty, there are Red Guards here that can deliver your correspondence…”

“Are you questioning me, Captain?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Captain Tréville bowed his head. “I will have my men deliver your message as quickly as possible, Sire.”

“Thank you, Captain.” King Louis handed Tréville the sealed envelope then dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “You are dismissed.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Captain Tréville bowed. He turned on his heel to locate his four best Musketeers for the rather mundane assignment.

*****

“Why fetch us when there were guards here at the palace who could have delivered this correspondence just as effectively?” Athos questioned.

“I suggested as such,” Captain Tréville sighed, “but His Majesty trusts his Musketeers. Let us not question the king but indulge him, shall we?” 

“It is a beautiful day for a short ride.” Athos took the envelope and secured it in his front pocket. “Captain,” he dipped his head with compliance then took his leave.

*****

On the short ride to Sorbonne, the weather progressively worsened. D’Artagnan snickered as he watched his three companions reach up to secure their hats—almost in unison—at a particularly gusty blast of wind.

“I’ve said there are advantages to not wearing a hat,” d’Artagnan grinned. “This is one such advantage.” 

The Gascon’s comment was met with glowering stares from his travel companions.

“Looks 'ike we’re in for a bit o’ rain.” Porthos grumbled as he held tightly to his hat flopping wildly in the wind.

“I think we’re in for more than a bit of rain—there’s quite a storm coming our way!” Aramis yelled over the wind. Turning in the saddle, he pointed to the western sky where dark, ominous clouds were swiftly rolling in on the heavy winds. “It’s heading right for us!”

“Let’s speed up our efforts, gentlemen!” Athos yelled. The lieutenant kicked his horse into a gallop across the bridge over the Seine toward Sorbonne.

As they neared the chapel, the ferocity of the wind was so strong the horses had difficulty walking. The men leaned forward in their saddles, making as little resistance to the wind as possible. Already they had stored their hats in the saddlebags to prevent loss of their beloved headgear to the wind’s thievery.

“Let’s secure our horses at the stable first then walk to the chapel.” Athos instructed loudly over the howling wind. He swept a hand over his face as rain began pelting his skin. “Dammit, it _was_ a beautiful day!”

Once the horses were secure, the Musketeers ran along the dirt road now swirling with dust from the wind. The streets were bustling with a scurry of activity; a sense of urgency quickened the pace of man and beast alike, each desperate to obtain shelter from the sudden storm. 

**Chapelle de la Sorbonne:**

Porthos pushed open the large wooden doors of the chapel then stood aside as his three brothers ran through. The wind showed its strength, pushing against the doors as the men tried to close out the powerful force.

Balls of ice scattered across the floor of the chapel as the wind blew hail and rain in through the open doors. Suddenly, there was a loud crashing noise from down the street, followed by screams as people ran for cover. 

“What is that?” Aramis yelled, pointing to the large black mass coming toward them.

“It’s a funnel cloud!” Athos shouted. “We must get downstairs to the crypt. Quickly!”

It took the strength of all four men, but alas the doors were closed. They rushed toward the narrow opening of the stairs leading to the crypt but stopped short as they heard yelling. 

Cardinal Richelieu rushed through the nave to join the Musketeers. “What is going on?”

“Your Eminence, we must get you downstairs!” Aramis ordered. As the group rushed toward the crypt, a loud crashing amid a thunderous roar filled the sanctuary as a portion of the roof was peeled away, revealing dark storm clouds above.

The stately stone arches lining the long, narrow nave began to crumble and fall to the floor. The stone scattered across the floor, mixing with hail and rain falling freely into the once-pristine chapel.

“No, my chapel!” Cardinal Richelieu cried. “Not my beautiful chapel; it cannot be destroyed!”

“It can be rebuilt but you cannot be replaced, Your Eminence!” D’Artagnan shouted over the thunderous noise echoing between the sacred walls of worship. “We can take refuge in the crypt; it should be safe down there.”

Instantly, a tremendous crash sounded as the remainder of the roof was ripped away. Now weakened, the entire right side of the chapel collapsed, causing the massive arches and ornate statues to fall. In a matter of seconds, the resplendent chapel was reduced to a pile of rubble.

Aramis and d’Artagnan ran behind the cardinal down the narrow steps to the crypt as pieces of stone fell among them. Clouds of dust rolled past the men as falling stones blocked the stairwell behind them and it went completely black.

“D’Artagnan…” _cough… cough…_ “D’Artagnan, where are you? Your Eminence… where are you?” _cough!_

“I’m here,” d’Artagnan sputtered and coughed. “Where is the cardinal? Your Em…”

“I’m here, d’Artagnan.” Richelieu interrupted. The cardinal swept his arms in front of him, unable to see anything in the pitch darkness. “What has happened to my chapel? We had delayed construction for too long and now this!”

“Are you hurt, Your Eminence?” Aramis asked, ignoring the cardinal’s concerns for the building. “Where are Porthos and Athos?”

“I thought they were right behind you!” D’Artagnan blurted before the cardinal could speak. “Porthos… Athos… can you hear me?”

“I am not hurt, thank you for asking.” Cardinal Richelieu interjected into the darkness.

“They _were_ behind me, but as the roof collapsed we were separated.” Aramis replied in a panic. “Athos, answer me, dammit! Porthos…!”

“Athos…!” d’Artagnan bellowed toward the stone rubble. “Porthos!”

“Will you _please_ stop that yelling!” Richelieu scolded the men. “You are hurting my ears. Besides, yelling for them when we are trapped down here does neither of us any good.”

“Forgive me, Your Eminence, but your ears are a minor concern right now!” Aramis snapped. “Our friends may be buried under the rubble and, as you previously stated, we are trapped down here with a pile of rocks between us and upstairs.”

“No need to jump to conclusions,” Richelieu retorted dryly. “I’m sure Porthos and Athos are perfectly fine… but my chapel is in ruins!”

“I am sorry about your chapel, Your Eminence, but the building is the least of our concern.” Aramis growled as he pulled rocks from the pile and tossed them aside.

“I thought you said that my ears were the least of your concern.”

“No, I said they were a minor concern, Your Eminence.” Aramis countered. He grunted loudly as a rock rolled and landed on the top of his foot. “Ouch… dammit!”

“Take care to remember that you are in a place of worship, Monsieur Aramis.” Cardinal Richelieu quickly reminded.

“No, we are in a place where the dead sleep and I do not care to be counted among them.”

“Excuse me, but arguing among ourselves is not helping our situation,” d’Artagnan muttered. The Gascon was worried for his missing friends, but being trapped with the cardinal in a dark crypt only exacerbated the situation. “We need to dig our way out of here, unless there is another exit?”

“There is no other exit from the crypt but this one,” Richelieu replied grimly. “Our only way out is that staircase—which is hopelessly blocked with all that rubble.” 

“Mon Dieu!” D’Artagnan gasped as he wiped sweat dripping from his brow. “We can’t dig ourselves out without collapsing the rubble in on top of us.” The Gascon leaned over to catch his breath, feeling suddenly dizzy. “How much air do you think we have left down here?”

“I don’t know,” Aramis said as he let out a heavy breath. “We cannot wait for them to dig us out of here. The longer we’re in here, the harder it will be to breathe… especially with this dust.”

“Does anyone know we’re down here?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Gentlemen, it only makes sense that once the storm passes, your captain will come looking for you.” Cardinal Richelieu stated calmly. “Tréville knows that you came to Sorbonne to deliver the correspondence from His Majesty, correct?”

“Yes,” Aramis replied. The medic paused to wipe his sweaty brow and gasped as he rubbed over a cut he hadn’t noticed before.

“You alright?” d’Artagnan asked, breathing heavily.

“Yes, but a cut on my head just made itself known—stings like fire.” Aramis huffed as he moved a heavy rock. “I can only imagine what we must look like, what with our rainstorm of rock and dust.”

“Aramis…”

“D’Artagnan, what’s wrong?” the medic asked anxiously.

“It’s getting… really hard… to breathe.”

“Your Eminence, where are you?” Aramis called into the darkness.

“I’m right here,” a voice replied from a few feet away.

“D’Artagnan, where are you?”

“I’m right… behind you,” the Gascon replied.

“Your Eminence, move further back into the crypt, away from the stairs.” Aramis instructed. “D’Artagnan, you move back also. I’m going to try rolling some of these heavier rocks away from the stairs; it could cause an avalanche of debris and I don’t want either of you to get hurt. We need to get some air down here before this crypt becomes our tomb.”

Aramis started rolling rocks down the pile without care where they landed. He stood to the side, under the cover of the low-lying ceiling of the crypt for cover from falling rocks. Soon, an avalanche of rock, stone and dirt collapsed into the cavity of the crypt, filling the small space with choking dust. 

“Monsieur Aramis…” _cough… cough… cough_ “All that accomplished…” _cough, cough_ “ is now we… can’t breathe at all!” Cardinal Richelieu choked, doubling over.

“Aramis…” _cough…cough…_ “please hurry!” d’Artagnan rasped.

“Hold on, I see light!” Aramis called back. The marksman pushed and pulled on the rocks wedged in tightly together until they finally collapsed and tumbled down the pile. Aramis rose into the open space and took a deep swallow of air. He splayed himself over a large rock, choking and gasping until he was able to catch his breath. “Come on… up here and… get some fresh air,” he called down into the crypt. 

“You can breathe in fresh air up here.” The medic smiled as he saw the dusty faces of the cardinal and d’Artagnan appear in the sliver of light filling the once pitch black cavern. “Hold on, I think there is a way out under this beam.”

“Aramis,” d’Artagnan called up. “Is there a way out of the rubble?”

“I can’t see anything yet…” Aramis paused as he crawled further into the ruins. Crouching underneath a large beam, he looked around but saw only more rubble blocking their path to freedom. “I don’t see a way out; it looks like we’re blocked in. We may just have to wait until someone digs us out from the other side.”

“I’m happy we have fresh air, but where are Porthos and Athos?” D’Artagnan slumped over a large stone.

“Porthos…. Athos, can you hear me?” Aramis yelled into the debris field. “Porthos, answer me!”

“Mnngh…” groaned a voice on Aramis’ left.

“Porthos, is that you?” Aramis quickly called out. “Porthos, answer me! Are you alright?”

“Mmm… trapped,” Porthos replied. “Can’t… can’t move.”

“Well, at the moment, we can’t get to you so just lie still and don’t move!” Aramis advised. “Are you hurt?”

“My legs are pinned… underneath a beam. There’s a rock on the beam… I can’t move it.” Porthos grunted as he tried to push away the rock. “My right leg… feels like it’s… feels like it’s bro-broken.”

“Are you able to move your foot?” Aramis called out. “Wiggle your toes inside those oversized boots of yours.”

“I can feel my left leg fine… but my right leg hurss,” Porthos answered. “Foot tingles…”

“Porthos, stay with me!” Aramis ordered. “Where is Athos, is he near you?”

Porthos moved his head around, looking on one side and then the other. His breath caught in his throat as he saw a pale hand partially hidden underneath a pile of rock and dirt. “I see Athos’ hand… he’s not… moving!”

“Can you reach him from there?”

“I’ll try…”

“Check his wrist for a pulse, if you can reach him,” Aramis instructed and then waited for a reply.

Porthos scoot as far to the left as the debris would allow then reached out for Athos’ hand. The large Musketeer grunted and groaned as the movement caused a wave of pain to course through his battered body. He stretched out further still and flinched at the cold touch of the unmoving fingers. “Bloody hell…”

“What’s wrong?” Aramis yelled. “Porthos, what’s wrong? Porthos…?”

“His fingers… are cold,” Porthos’ voice cracked. “No, dammit, I won’t accept ‘at!” Porthos growled to himself. He inched forward more, as far as his trapped legs would allow, then felt with his fingers along the wrist. “I can’t… reach. Come on, Athos, help me ou’ ‘ere!”

“My God, Aramis,” d’Artagnan exclaimed with fear. “Is he…?”

“I don’t know.” Aramis scrubbed a shaking hand over his face then met the Gascon’s frightened eyes as they anxiously awaited news.

Porthos snaked his fingers around the dusty wrist; he pressed down and waited. “Come on, brother.” He held his breath as he closed his eyes and concentrated on feeling a pulse against his fingertips. He felt nothing. “No, Athos!”

“Porthos?” Aramis and d’Artagnan called out with dread.

The large Musketeer repositioned his fingers and pressed down harder, holding his breath as he waited. 

_God please…_ Porthos waited, hoping for a pulse.

A sob escaped as he finally felt a light flutter of movement against his fingertips. He let out the breath he was holding, relishing in the feel of Athos’ pulse beating underneath his fingers. “I ‘ave… his pulse. It’s faint… but it’s there. ‘e’s alive!”

“Oh, thank God!” d’Artagnan cried out. 

“Thank God, he’s alive!” Aramis bowed his head as his shaking fingers made the sign of the cross in relief. “Thank God, they’re both alive.” The medic wiped the wetness from his eyes then let his head hang, feeling utterly worn out.

Cardinal Richelieu smiled. “I told you they would be alright, did I not?” 

“Aramis, how long can Athos last buried underneath all that rubble?” D’Artagnan dared to ask.

“I don’t know,” Aramis whispered. “It would depend on how much weight is on him—and where—and how badly he is injured. There’s no way to tell if I can’t see him.”

“Dammit!” D’Artagnan threw a rock in anger. The rock crashed into the wall of the chapel, bouncing down a pile before coming to a rest in a puff of dust. “What is taking the captain so long?”

“Try to be patient, young man,” the cardinal said calmly. “I have faith that your captain will move every obstacle—every rock, every beam—that is necessary until he finds you.”

“You know our captain well, Cardinal,” Aramis said, smiling.

“Gentlemen, you do not give me enough credit.” Cardinal Richelieu leaned his head back against the wall. “I do still have a heart beating inside this old chest. I am not as… unfeeling as you may believe.”

*****

“My God!” Captain Tréville cursed under his breath as he surveyed the destruction in the Sorbonne quarter. The chapel stood as a mere skeleton among the rubble; its roof collapsed inside itself with only two outer walls left standing. The front of the chapel, with its stately pillars and tall, double wooden doors, remained untouched.

Inside the chapel, the men gasped at the damage. They stood in disbelief that the impressive construction, which the cardinal took such pride in, was reduced to such devastating ruin.

“I need every man in here removing the debris.” Captain Tréville ordered the mass of Musketeer and Red Guard volunteers. “Take special care as you remove _anything,_ the cardinal and my men are under there somewhere.”

“Captain?” Aramis called out as he heard the distinct sound of his commander’s voice. “Captain, are you there?”

“Aramis, where are you?” Tréville yelled, looking right and left over the pile of rubble. “Say something so I can follow your voice.”

“Captain, the cardinal and d’Artagnan are with me,” Aramis replied. “We managed to escape harm—for the most part—by retreating into the crypt, but Porthos and Athos are trapped somewhere in front of us, I don’t know where. They are both hurt; Athos is unconscious, but alive.”

“Alright son,” Tréville called out. “I located your general position; just stay still and do not move. Porthos, can you hear me?”

“I hear… hear you, Cap’n,” the large Musketeer grunted in pain.

“We’re going to get you out of there,” Tréville called toward his men. “Hang on just a little while longer.”

The mass of volunteers began the arduous task of removing the debris, stone by stone, and depositing them into the street. As more of the debris was removed, pockets of open space were cleared to eventually reveal the location of Aramis, d’Artagnan and the cardinal. 

“Your Eminence, are you hurt?” Captain Tréville asked as he looked over the three men, dusty and bloodied. 

“Aside from a few cuts and bruises, I am relatively unscathed, thanks to your men here.” The unusual praise stunned the Musketeers and they each raised their eyebrows in genuine surprise. “Captain, is there a way out of this wretched mess?”

“No, Captain, don’t worry about us,” Aramis quickly interposed. "We are doing fine here and we can wait… but Porthos and Athos cannot. Please, see to them first or they may not survive much longer.”

“Where are they located again?” Captain Tréville asked as he looked over the daunting amount of rubble still left to sift through.

“I heard Porthos somewhere ahead of us.” Aramis pointed in the general direction of his friend’s voice.

The captain nodded his acknowledgement then ordered the mass of volunteers to remove the debris by the outer left wall of the chapel. As a particularly large stone was moved the pile shifted and collapsed with debris falling inside itself, into the open pockets of space.

“Stop!” Captain Tréville yelled with urgency. “The debris field is too unstable; this shifting of rubble could crush my men. Step back and do not remove _anything_ else until I have a look at this.”

Aramis then realized that with the newly arranged debris pile, they had a clear path to crawl out from the trapped space. “Captain, I see a way out of here! Your Eminence, d’Artagnan, follow me.” Aramis crouched low, crawling on all fours. He stopped to sweep rocks out of the way for those coming behind him. 

The marksman stopped at a low-lying beam to study the precariously balanced piece of wood. He noticed that the end of the beam was only balancing on the tip on a large rock. One bump and the entire beam—and everything on top of it—would come crashing down on top of them. Lying flat on his stomach, Aramis slid underneath the beam to safety.

“Watch out for this last beam!” Aramis called to the cardinal, next in line. “You will have to lie down on your stomach and slide underneath it. Do _not_ bump that beam, or everything will come down on top of you!”

“Yes, I see it, Aramis…” Richelieu whispered. The cardinal flattened himself on the floor then pulled himself slowly forward, carefully trying not to disturb the beam. With his arms outstretched in front of him, Aramis and Captain Tréville pulled the cardinal the rest of the way free of the debris.

Turning his attention now to d’Artagnan, Aramis repeated his warning of the low beam. The young Gascon was already sliding himself on his belly, easily passing underneath the beam and out of the debris pile. “You were saying?” he grinned.

“Of course, you would have an easier time getting out of there—you’re no wider than a beanpole.” Aramis gathered his younger brother in his arms and hugged him tight, clapping him happily on the back. 

“Are you sure you are alright, Your Eminence?” Captain Tréville asked. The haggard, drawn face of the cardinal was covered in a layer of dust marked with a streak of red from a small cut above his right eye. 

“Yes, I am fine, thank you.”

“And you men?”

“We’re fine,” they muttered together. Aramis and d’Artagnan were covered in a layer of fine, white dust from head to foot. Their skin, caked with dust and dried blood, was streaked with red lines from cuts on their faces, necks and hands. 

“Nurses are tending to the wounded next door in the college building.” Captain Tréville informed the trio of men. “Why don’t you let them tend to your cuts and get yourselves cleaned up?”

“No, we’re not going anywhere until Porthos and Athos are found!” D’Artagnan’s steely reply was resolute and firm. 

“I will leave you men to your rescue.” Cardinal Richelieu stated abruptly before taking his leave of the wreckage.

“He’s none too happy about this chapel being razed.” Aramis frowned as he looked around at the massive damage to the place of worship. “And I don’t blame him.”

“I found one of them!” a man called from about twenty feet away. “I see one through there…”

Aramis and d’Artagnan ran to where the man was pointing. “Porthos!” Aramis called out. “Porthos, can you hear me? Porthos!”

Porthos was confused. He heard a voice calling to him from a distance, though he didn’t know why. His head hurt, his legs hurt—hell, everywhere hurt. _Why can’t I move? Why am I in so much pain?_ With the fog in his brain, he couldn’t think—let alone speak—all he could manage was a pained groan.

“Thank God.” Aramis breathed a sigh of relief. “Hold on, brother, we’re going to get you out of there.”

After much digging and removal of stone after stone and other debris, the rescuers were almost able to reach the large Musketeer but for a few criss-crossed beams blocking his extraction.

“Whoa there, I see Athos!” Aramis yelled suddenly. “I can see Athos, but…” the medic’s eyes widened with fear as he studied the rubble. “Madre de Dios, he’s buried underneath several beams and stones!”

The rescuers started removing the beams and stones surrounding Porthos, only to cause another small collapse, raining rocks and mortar down on the Musketeers.

“Halt!” d’Artagnan screamed. “This whole pile could collapse on top of both of them if we remove any more debris. I can see where the rubble is literally balancing itself on the larger beams here.” The Gascon motioned his hand in illustration where the support beams were lying.

“How do we remove this debris without it falling in on them?” Aramis asked, horrified at the precarious position of the debris balancing above his two friends.

“We need to find more beams,” d’Artagnan suggested. “If we move some larger beams in underneath that one beam there,” the Gascon pointed, “it will support the weight when the pile shifts.”

“Excellent idea, pup,” Aramis clapped his younger brother on the shoulder. “Where did you learn such construction skills?”

“My father let me help him with the repairs on our outbuildings. We would also help the neighbors build or repair as needed; they knew they could count on us.”

“Go through the beams already carried out into the street,” the captain ordered the group. “Find the largest, sturdiest of the beams and bring them in here!”

After several beams were brought in, the rescuers began the task of placing the beams where d’Artagnan directed them to go. 

“Captain, how long is this going to take?” Aramis asked impatiently.

“As much time as necessary to prevent collapse,” Captain Tréville replied. 

“Athos and Porthos have already been under there too long.” Aramis ran a hand through his dusty, wild hair. “They don’t have time for us to move too slowly.”

“We have no choice, Aramis,” Tréville countered. “Would you rather they get crushed as we try pulling them out?”

“Dammit!” Aramis cursed without care.

The rescuers carefully aligned the new beams in and under the unstable and dangerously positioned beams. Slowly they were pushed into place, causing smaller rocks to fall and tumble to the floor around the wounded men.

“Easy now…” D’Artagnan warned as a beam creaked loudly under the weight of a large stone. “Hurry, get that new beam in place!” the Gascon ordered with urgency. “The old beam there is cracking under the weight of that stone, quick!”

The men pushed the new beam, rocking it slightly, until it finally slid into place just as the older beam snapped in two. The large jagged stone shifted, but then rested against the new beam.

“Whew,” d’Artagnan blew out a relieved breath. “Alright, we need more beams. I need a thick, long beam to act as leverage to move that large stone.”

“D’Artagnan, we have no more beams out there!”

“Merde!” The Gascon spat angrily. “We don’t dare move anything further until we get more support beams in there.”

“We don’t know how badly they’re hurt in there, d’Artagnan!” Aramis paced, his face reddening. “Athos could have rocks on his chest, choking the very breath out of him; that weight may be cutting circulation off from his limbs. They cannot _wait_ any longer.”

“We must find more beams…”

“So we just leave them there and wait.” Aramis blurted out, incredulous. 

“Yes, Aramis, we have to wait.” Captain Tréville ordered resolutely. “We wait and we hope that we can get to them in time… but I will not allow our impatience to cause my men to be crushed under a thousand quintals.”

“We wait…” Aramis shook his head in disbelief. “Athos may already be dying, but we wait. I cannot stand around any longer and just wait.”

The medic stormed away toward the altar—which was remarkably unscathed—at the front of the chapel. Tréville and d’Artagnan watched as Aramis fell to his knees then leaned forward as he tearfully began to pray.

“Aramis…” D’Artagnan started forward but was stopped short by Tréville.

“No, let him pray,” the captain said softly. Regret and worry etched deep lines on Tréville’s face. Unspoken fear filled his eyes. “Praying gives him something to do while we wait.”

After only a short time, the group of rescuers returned carrying armloads of large beams. “The Piedmont’s lost their café but it’s providing the necessary wood for us!”

The men worked together pushing, interlacing and maneuvering the beams into place until d’Artagnan called for a stop. “Alright, that’s enough! Let’s pull this old beam out of there so the rest of these stones can be removed from around Porthos.”

After the stones were tossed aside, the Gascon was finally able to reach Porthos. “I’ve got him!” he announced with excitement. “I’m going to need help pulling him out!” D'Artagnan worked with the other four men at pulling the large Musketeer out of the debris field until he was free and clear at last. 

“Aw, Porthos.” Aramis groaned at the bloody sight of his unconscious friend. “Put him on the stretcher, carefully!” he ordered.

The Musketeer’s dark, curly hair was covered with dust and encrusted with dried blood from a wound at the top of his head. Blood streaked across his face from a cut on his brow, leaving crimson paths through the white dust.

“Inform the physician that he has a broken left arm,” the medic informed the litter bearers as he assessed Porthos’ condition. “His right leg is broken and his knee is dislocated; I’m also certain he has a concussion. I’ll be over there once we pull Athos out.”

*****

Pulling Athos free took more volunteers, as the extreme weight of the debris resting against the lieutenant required precise leverage to move. Two large pieces of the broken stone archway rested against his chest, as a smaller piece rested against a beam near his head.

“Look at that, Aramis!” D’Artagnan exclaimed with wonder. “That beam there,” he pointed, “and that angel statue are situated just perfectly to contain the weight of that broken arch. If that angel statue wasn’t there…”

“… Athos would have been crushed,” Aramis said, finishing the Gascon’s thoughts. “God was watching out for him… and He still is.” The medic’s voice cracked with emotion. “Athos is still alive by God’s good grace.”

At last, the men pulled the unconscious and bloodied lieutenant from the wreckage. Athos was severely wounded, but alive. He was battered and broken, but not crushed. Hope was not wasted—he was alive! 

“Let’s get him next door, quick!” Aramis snapped, rushing ahead of the litter bearing his wounded brother.

**Collège de Sorbonne, Sometime Later:**

“These two are very lucky men,” the king’s physician nodded. “By all human reasoning, both of them should be dead—especially Athos. I heard a strategically placed angel statue saved him from being crushed.”

“Yes, he had a guardian angel watching over him,” d’Artagnan smiled at his mentor, gently squeezing his limp hand. 

“Considering their broken limbs, broken ribs, and concussions,” the physician stated, “both patients are going to be under my care for a while.” 

“Take good care of my men, Doctor.” Captain Tréville nodded as he turned to leave. “Keep them here as long as necessary, until they are well enough to come home. They are alive, that is all that matters. All else… well, all else can wait.”

**One Week Later:**

“The cardinal has to begin construction of _Chapelle de la Sorbonne_ once again.” Aramis informed his two friends who were still restricted to bed rest. “There remains quite an amount of debris to be moved—though I don’t know where to—before construction can begin. However, it shouldn’t be long; Cardinal Richelieu is rather impatient.”

“What is the damage like out there?” Athos asked weakly.

“The damage was incredible, but it could have been far worse,” d’Artagnan replied, shaking his head with astonishment. 

“It’s amazing, the path of the tornado.” Aramis huffed with wonder. “It nearly destroyed the chapel, but it didn’t touch the college next door. It destroyed the Piedmont’s café, but it didn’t touch the stables. It wiped out an entire block of buildings near _Notre-Dame Cathedral,_ but spared the cathedral damage. The tornado never even came close to the palace. Amazing…”

“We came so close to losing you both,” d’Artagnan murmured quietly.

“Rubbish…”

“No, it’s true!” D’Artagnan stared into the distance, as his mind wandered back to the destruction. “The chapel was reduced to rubble—a literal mountain of destruction. The massive amount of debris you were under…”

“D’Artagnan…?” Aramis asked with concern.

“I’m still amazed,” d’Artagnan’s eyes filled with tears. “The way the beams crossed _just_ at the right place to stop those heavy stones from crushing them. That angel statue… I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s almost like…”

“… like God orchestrated the fall of His house around them.” Aramis finished the Gascon’s thoughts. “It _is_ amazing, d’Artagnan. It is amazing, indeed.”

The End

**Author's Note:**

>  **Tornado Facts:** Severity is measured by the “F-scale” from F1 (being least damaging) to F5 (being the most severe).
> 
> 1645—Rome, an F4 Tornado hit; deathtoll unknown.  
> 1669—LaRochelle, France, a FAMILY of tornadoes hit and had the longest track in European history.  
> 1845—Montiville, France an F5 tornado hit with winds up to 310 mph (502km), killing over 200 people.  
> 1851—Sicily, a tornado hit with over 500 casualties. It is counted as amongst the deadliest in Europe.  
> The last F5 tornado to hit the EU was in northern France in 1967.  
> The U.S. has MORE twisters than the rest of the world… COMBINED!
> 
>  **The College of Sorbonne (Collège de Sorbonne)** was a theological college of the University of Paris founded in 1253 by Robert de Sorbon (1201–1274), after whom it was named.
> 
>  **Chapelle de la Sorbonne, or Chapel of the Sorbonne,** had its foundations built as early as 1326 but it was completely destroyed. Cardinal Richelieu coordinated with an architect to begin developments to rebuild the chapel in 1622 but it was not until 1635 that the first stone was actually laid. The chapel would not be completed until the year Cardinal Richelieu died in 1642. His remains were buried in the crypt. However, during the French Revolution, the chapel was ransacked and the crypt was opened and looted. The 50 coffins found in the crypt were emptied by the revolutionaries and remains scattered. They desecrated the cardinal’s remains, breaking his nose and beheading him; his body was thrown into the Seine. His head was removed by a Paris merchant who bequeathed it to a priest. The head was returned to the crypt in 1866. The chapel is now a mausoleum for Cardinal Richelieu and is only open for tours one hour per day due to disrepair.
> 
> Twelve French Resistance fighters who died for the cause of France in WWII are also buried in the crypt.


End file.
